


See the sun again

by stjarna



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: And it's not a poly fic, Bisexuality, But it's good to branch out ;), F/F, Femslash, Femslash February, Friends to Lovers, Grief, MCD Mentioned, MCD takes place pre-fic, One: Poly-Fitzskimmons, S.H.I.E.L.D. AU, There's two ways I could write Skimmons, Two: Kill Fitz first, You know I'm total Fitzsimmons trash, dealing with grief, sooooo.... I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 01:31:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9856061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: S.H.I.E.L.D. AU. Skye is a hacker “consultant” for Coulson (so similar to Season 1) who meets a grieving young agent when Skye and Coulson pay a visit to S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @theclaravoyant for the beta and encouraging words!

Wide-eyed, Skye enters the building with the impressive glass façade. The marble floor is polished to the point that she can see her own reflection. Her footsteps and those of the cadets and academic staff hustling to and from various parts of the building echo in the vast open atrium.

“Okay,” Coulson announces, clapping his hands together, and stopping in the middle of the foyer, “here we are. Sci-Tech. Main building. I’ll be meeting Agent Weaver in about ten minutes,” he adds, glancing at his watch. “Once my meeting with her is over, we’ll be headed over to the Academy of Communications so you can check out Comp Sci… as promised. There’s a cafeteria on the lower level and some vending machines around the corner if I remember correctly.”

“Hey A.C. What’s that?” Skye asks, pointing at a monument of sorts at the other end of the entrance hall.

“I wish you would stop calling me that.”

“Nah, you love it,” Skye counters. “So. What’s that?”

“The Wall of Valor,” Coulson explains. “Every S.H.I.E.L.D. facility has one. A memorial to agents lost in the line of duty.”

“Hmm,” Skye mumbles, her eyes wandering to a young woman standing in front of the memorial, whose fingers are absentmindedly gliding over the letters of one of the names.

“Who’s that?” Skye asks, gesturing at the petite woman, whose figure suddenly blurs and merges with a faint memory of herself.

“You think I know everyone who walks on this campus?”

“Kinda,” Skye replies, shrugging her shoulders.

Coulson sighs. “Jemma Simmons. Level 5 agent. One of the best biochemists S.H.I.E.L.D. has to offer. Youngest cadet to ever graduate.”

“Umm,” Skye interjects, her eyes still locked on the young woman with her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, “If she was the youngest cadet to ever graduate; brilliant biochem and all that. Why is she still at the Academy, looking like she’s been standing in that exact same spot for a year or so?”

“Two.”

“What?” Sky asks, looking at Coulson, unsure if she’s heard correctly.

“It’s been two years,” Coulson elaborates.

Skye’s eyes widen in shock. “What do you—?”

Coulson sighs. “She and her science partner, Leopold Fitz, graduated at the same time. Like I said, youngest cadets to ever graduate. They were like two pieces of a puzzle. Inseparable. They came as a package. Fitzsimmons. There are agents within S.H.I.E.L.D. who didn’t even realize they were two people. After graduation, they went to Sci-Ops at the Hub, one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s most important operations centers. Climbed up the ranks with ease. I had my eyes on them. Even asked them to join my team. Never got an answer. Then, two years ago, a terrorist organization, calling themselves Disciples of Hydra, went on a shooting spree at a conference. We lost a lot of good scientists that day. Fitz threw himself in front of a bullet headed for her. She managed to drag them to safety, but he died in her arms. Since then, she’s been back at the Academy. Helping out wherever she’s needed. Grading papers. Teaching chem lab. Basically an overqualified teaching assistant.”

“Why doesn’t she just leave?” Skye asks, confused, looking back at Simmons, whose eyes are still focused on a single nameplate on the memorial.

“I think if she left S.H.I.E.L.D. she’d feel as if she’d left _him_ too,” Coulson replies. “But don’t quote me on that. Never got a chance to get to know them well enough, unfortunately.”

“And S.H.I.E.L.D. lets her? I mean… like… waste her talents or whatever?” Skye asks, wrinkling her forehead.

“Heard the part where she’s one of the best biochemists S.H.I.E.L.D. has to offer?” Coulson counters. “We’re giving her time, hoping she’ll eventually recover.”

“Man,” Skye mutters. “The way she stares at the wall—”

“I know,” Coulson replies, placing his hand on Skye’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Look, I have to head to Weaver’s office now. You stay here. Don’t get into trouble. Don’t wander off too far. Cafeteria. Vending machines. Got it?”

“As you wish, A. C.” Skye replies absentmindedly.

She stands rooted to the spot, listening to Coulson’s footsteps slowly disappearing in the distance while her eyes remain mesmerized by the young grieving agent.

The volume of her own heartbeat surprises her. Like a metronome, it sets a pace that Skye is unable to resist. Like in trance, she feels her feet move forward, crossing the wide atrium, until she comes to a stop next to Simmons, who seems to be trapped in her own world, her own everlasting nightmare.

“Sorry for your loss,” Skye mumbles quietly, unsure what else to say.

Simmons looks up, surprised, wide-eyed.

“Umm,” Skye mutters, suddenly wishing she had resisted the urge to say anything at all, but realizing that she had opened a gate she was now unable to close. “Look,” she continues, taking a step closer. “It’s really none of my business and you don’t know me and I’m not even sure why I’m here but I saw you and … well… I heard what happened and… it’s just … someone did the same for me, you know. I know what it’s like, when someone pulls that kinda sacrifice-their-life-for-you kinda crap and—”

“Crap? _Crap?_ ” The young woman exclaims, interrupting Skye’s rambling speech. “How dare you?”

Though she is noticeably shaken, Simmons’ distraught cry echoes in the vast space of the atrium. Nervously, Skye peeks to the side, seeing surprised faces turning their way.

“Fitz died to save my life!” Simmons continues to yell. “How dare you call that ‘crap’? How _dare_ you? Who the hell are you anyways?”

She’s breathing heavily and Skye sees her fighting back tears before she turns on her heels and storms off towards one of the large wooden doors, pushing two confused cadets out of her way.

* * *

It doesn’t take Skye long to find her.

She’s hustling around in a teaching lab just down the corridor through which she had disappeared, her back turned to the entrance. She’s hastily setting up beakers, pipettes, small glass bottles and other equipment on the workbenches in front of her. Her movements are anxious and she knocks over the same beaker twice with trembling hands, while Skye watches her in silence, guilt creeping up her spine, knowing that she is the reason the young agent is so upset.

Skye takes a deep breath and knocks gently against the wooden doorframe. Simmons lets out an anxious gasp and turns around, clearly startled by Skye’s arrival. Skye notices her red puffy eyes and another wave of guilt washes over her body.

“May I come in?” she asks quietly.

“Computer Science is across campus. Academy of Communications,” Simmons replies coldly, quickly wiping away a few remaining tears.

Skye slumps her shoulders. “Yeah, I didn’t—” she begins, but stops, surprised. “How do you know I’m computer science? I mean, I’m _not_ , ‘cause I’m not in the Academy. I’m a consultant. I’m not Computer Sci—How do you know?”

“Oh please,” Simmons scoffs. “The outfit and haircut _alone_ give it away.” She gestures somewhat condescendingly up and down Skye’s body.

Skye shrugs, and dares to take another step into the lab. “Fair enough, I guess.”

“What do you want?” Simmons asks, her voice still harsh and icy.

Skye takes a deep breath. “Look. I’m sorry,” she begins her apology, walking a bit closer to the young scientist. “Seriously. What I said… it… it came out all wrong… of course it wasn’t crap… that’s just… I just talk like that,” she explains, gesturing at herself. “And my mouth has gotten me in trouble on more than one occasion and—” She shrugs. “I … I didn’t mean it that way… at _all_. But when Coulson told me—”

“Coulson?” Simmons interrupts her wide-eyed. “ _Phil_ Coulson sent you?” She scoffs, shaking her head and throwing both hands in the air. “Fantastic! He may have wanted to send someone with better people skills if he’s still trying to convince me to join his team.”

“Ummm,” Skye replies, raising her hands in defense. “Coulson didn’t send me.” She gestures towards the door. “I saw you in front of the Wall of Valor and I asked Coulson who you were and he told me.” Skye waves her hands over each other and to the side in a _finished_ gesture. “End of _that_ story.”

She takes another deep breath before continuing. “Look, I came here to apologize. I came here to say that of _course_ it wasn’t crap what your lab partner did and that was a _very_ unfortunate choice of word and… I… I wanted to say that I’m… Someone—”

Skye pauses, wetting her lips, working up the courage to continue. “My dad,” she finally admits, feeling a slight jab to her heart from a memory she didn’t allow to surface very often. “He jumped in front of a car that was about to hit me and pushed me aside and he died and I lived and… well—” She lets out a shaky breath, trying to keep her tears at bay. “It wasn’t _crap_ ,” she continues. “It _wasn’t_ , but… I mean there’s still _guilt_.”

Skye looks at the young woman in front of her, whose eyes seem to be focused on a single point on the floor. She notices Simmons’ eyelids fluttering and takes another deep breath before continuing her own story.

“I felt guilty,” Skye recalls. “And I was… I was _mad_ at him or something and… all I wanted to tell you was that I _know_ the feeling and I’m sorry for your loss.”

Skye wets her lips again, hoping that maybe the scientist will look up, but the figure in front of her seems frozen in space and time.

“There was something about you standing in front of that wall and staring at your friend’s name,” Skye continues, “that reminded me of myself standing in front of my dad’s grave, tracing the letters of his name as if _somehow_ that would bring him back to me; just reading his name over and over and over again. It reminded me of myself and I wanted to share that even though I don’t know you because… well shared pain and all that crap.” Skye chuckles sadly. “There you go… I said it again… _crap_. It’s just a big part of my vocabulary.” She shrugs her shoulders again, but still nothing but silence echoes back at her.

“I’m sorry,” Skye says quietly. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

She shakes her head and turns around to leave.

“He loved me,” Simmons blurts out unexpectedly, causing Skye to turn back around.

Simmons’ eyes shimmer behind a curtain of tears, but they’re wide, as if pleading with Skye to stay.

“He loved me,” Simmons repeats, her voice shaking. “And I loved him, but we were too young and stupid and afraid to admit that or do anything about it and then he—” Her gaze drifts off, staring into the nothingness of space. “He died in my arms,” she continues, pressing her lips into a thin line, before exhaling a shaky breath. “He died in my arms and the last words we exchanged were a confession… that we… we loved each other and he… he died and we never and I keep thinking what if… what if—”

Skye feels frozen, watching as tears begin streaming down the Simmons’ cheeks, as the petite body in front of her begins to tremble.

And then a jolt runs through Skye’s body, forcing her feet forward.

Skye hugs her. She’s not sure why. She has no reason to, but she can’t help herself. She pulls Simmons into her embrace, stroking her hair, whispering, “I’m sorry,” over and over again, feeling the woman’s fingers digging into her back, her knees buckling from crying so hard, but Skye pulls her up, carries her weight. She has felt that weight before. The weight of guilt.

“I’m sorry,” Skye whispers once more into Simmons’ hair, feeling the woman’s tears soak her shirt. Gently, she loosens her embrace, bringing enough distance between them so that she can see Simmons’ tear-streaked face.

Carefully, Skye wipes away the watery trails. “I know I’ve upset you enough already and you don’t need my wisdom and you don’t even know me, and you’ve probably heard this from like fifty other people and three therapists already, but even though it may never stop hurting—” She chuckles sadly and drops her head back briefly. “God. It fucking hurts!” She takes deep breath. “But it does get easier. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even a year from now, but eventually you’ll venture out again, out of the little cave you’ve built for yourself and…and you’ll see the sun again.”

Simmons wrinkles her forehead and her brown eyes look at Skye questioningly.

Skye takes a few steps back and gestures towards the door with her thumb. “I’ll go now,” she mumbles. “Again. Sorry for your loss.”

She turns around to leave, but once again is stopped, when the young scientist speaks up again.

“What’s your name?”

Skye turns back around, the corners of her mouth quirking up slightly. “Skye. Just Skye.”

A shy smile appears on Simmons’ lips. “Thank you, Skye.”

* * *

They’re headed back to the Bus. The wind’s blowing Skye’s hair up, her arm resting on Lola’s doorframe, while she stares absentmindedly at houses, cars, and pedestrians that pass blurrily before her eyes.

Coulson’s on the phone, but even before he had accepted the call, Skye had been quiet and Coulson seemed to have sensed that she wasn’t her usual chatty self and hadn’t insisted on smalltalk.

She can still feel the ghosts of Simmons’ tears on her shirt, the imprints of Simmons’ fingers clinging to her shoulders in a desperate cry for something to hold onto, something to stop her from being pulled into the dark ocean of guilt and grief that Skye had managed to climb out of herself only years after her father’s death. Except Skye still often feels like one foot is permanently stuck in it, this black pool of doom, like quicksand, ready to drag her back down the second she tries to get away from it.

In the corner of her eye, Skye notices Coulson hang up the phone.

“I don’t know what you did or how you did it,” he says, loud enough to break through Skye’s clouded mind, “but Agent Weaver has just informed me that Jemma Simmons has requested to join our team.”

Skye’s head shoots around to look at him, and he nods at her in silent confirmation.

Her gaze wanders to her lap and she shrugs her shoulders. “That wasn’t really my intention,” she mumbles quietly. “I just… talked to her.”

“Well, you’ll get a chance to talk with her a lot more from here on out,” Coulson replies matter-of-factly, before focusing back on the road.

Skye looks back out to the side. The corners of her mouth quirk up involuntarily. She can’t figure out what on earth she could have said that would have made the young scientist accept Coulson’s offer after more than two years of denying it, but the thought of getting a chance to getting to know her, hearing more of her story… it is something Skye looks forward to.


	2. Seven months later

Skye walks into the small common area of the Bus, just having finished showering after another grueling workout with May.

She notices Jemma sitting sideways on the couch, her back resting against the armrest, her legs slightly pulled up.

_Nerd must be reading again_ , Skye thinks, unable to see what Jemma is looking at in her lap.

“Whazzup?” Skye exclaims excitedly, but Simmons not so much as flinches.

_Must be a real page-turner_.

“Simmons?” Skye addresses her more directly and takes a step closer to the sofa.

Still, her friend’s slightly hunched-over body seems immobile.

Skye takes another step, and catches a glimpse of a photograph in Simmons’ hands.

“Jemma?” she says more quietly, trying not to startle Jemma, whose head nonetheless spins around to face her.

“Skye,” she replies surprised. “Sorry, I didn’t… I wasn’t… I was—” Her voice is strangely hoarse and shaky.

“Elsewhere?” Skye ask, tilting her head to the side.

“Yes,” Jemma replies, her eyes dropping back at the photograph in her hands. She lets out a deep sigh.

Skye walks closer to the couch, relieved when Jemma voluntarily removes her feet to make room for her.

“You okay?” Skye asks.

“It’s his birthday today,” Jemma explains and hands Skye the photograph she’s been holding onto.

Skye looks down at a selfie of a much younger Jemma with her arm wrapped around the shoulders of a scrawny-looking, baby-faced young man with unruly curly brown hair and friendly blue eyes. They’re both smiling widely, their heads resting against each other.

“So that’s him,” Skye says, realizing that in seven months of knowing about the legend that was Fitzsimmons, she had never thought to look up what Fitz had looked like.

“Yes,” Jemma confirms, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Quite the mop on his head,” Skye remarks teasingly, relieved when she hears Jemma chuckle quietly.

She notices Jemma’s hand tremble slightly when she reaches over to take back the photograph.

“I always liked his curls,” Jemma remarks, her eyes fixed on the image, her thumb gently caressing Fitz’s face. “And his eyes. They were so kind and honest and smart.”

A single tear escapes Jemma’s eyes and drops onto the photo paper. Hastily she wipes it away, inhaling a shaky breath.

“What kinda gifts did you get him for his birthdays?” Skye asks, realizing that maybe today was the day to learn more about this friend she’d felt she wanted to know and yet would never get a chance to meet.

Jemma sniffles briefly. The corners of her mouth quirk into a timid smile.

“A cake,” she explains. “I always baked him a cake.”

Her brown eyes are still fixed on the young man in the picture, as if staring at him would somehow pull him out of the paper and back into the present.

“That’s it?” Skye asks, surprised, shrugging her shoulders.

Jemma’s head turns slowly to face Skye. She squints her eyes, pretending to be insulted.

“It was perfect. _I_ like to bake. _Fitz_ loved to eat,” she replies matter-of-factly. She chuckles. “He was one of those people who’d eat a five-course meal and half an hour later open a bag of crisps.”

Skye exclaims “ _Ha!_ ” and leans back, stretching her arms out until they’re resting on the back of the couch. “Man after my own heart.”

Jemma lets out a single laugh, and the sound lets Skye’s heart beat a bit happier.

“Yes, I think you two would have gotten along swimmingly,” Jemma replies. “ _You’re_ an even bigger potty mouth than _he_ was.”

“Really?” Skye asks, wide-eyed, grinning mischievously. “Fitzy liked to throw around the f-bomb too?”

“Well, not so much the f-bomb,” Jemma corrects her. “Sometimes,” she adds, tilting her head slightly. “‘Bloody’ and ‘hell’ were probably on top of his list. Often in combination. ‘Bloody ‘ell!’”

“Umm, yeah,” Skye throws in, wrinkling her forehead and shaking her head. “That’s just plain lame.” She lifts her arms from the backrest and shrugs. “I mean bloody hell wouldn’t even get him bleeped on television. In fact,” she adds, raising her index finger, “he could probably throw bloody hell around during the Teletubbies and get away with it.”

She gestures at herself with both hands, shifting in her seat to face Jemma better, whose lips are trying to hide a smile. “ _I_ on the other hand swear _so_ much, I would have the bleep censored out of my bleeping self on bleeping HBO.”

Jemma chuckles and rolls her eyes. “Well, I _did_ say you’re an even _bigger_ potty mouth than Fitz was.”

“Nonono,” Skye interjects, grinning widely, waving her index fingers in front of Jemma’s face. “Bloody hell does _not_ qualify him for the title of potty mouth _at all_.”

Jemma lets out a quiet groan, letting her shoulders sag. “Well, he _did_ say fuck and shit, too, okay?”

“Jemma Simmons,” Skye shrieks, covering her mouth theatrically. “I’m _appalled_ by your language!”

“Oh, you’re insufferable,” Jemma exclaims, slapping the back of her hand against Skye’s chest, who backs away, trying to get her laughing back under control.

“Okay, okay,” Skye replies, still trying to catch her breath and raising her hands in defeat. “I’ll stop now.”

She shifts, sitting cross-legged on the couch, so she can face Jemma.

“So… bloody hell? He was British too?” Skye asks curiously.

A smile flashes across Jemma’s face. “Scottish,” she replies, nodding slightly. “Quite a lovely accent, really.”

Her eyes grow more serious again, losing some of the beautiful sparkle Skye had seen only moments earlier. She lets out a deep sigh.

“You know,” Jemma says quietly, “I hate to say it because I have a feeling you’ll be as cocky as Fitz was whenever I admitted that he was right about something, but,” she shrugs, “you were right… what you said about seeing the sun again.”

Jemma chuckles sadly, looking down at the photograph she’s still holding in her hand.

“It’s strange,” she remarks. “For _two_ years, I hid at the Academy, trying to push my grief, my guilt, _everything_ into the furthest corner of my mind, and yet, everything drowned in darkness.”

Her fingers carefully glide across Fitz’s face. “All I _saw_ , all I ever _thought_ about was _him_ dying in my arms, his pale face, the blood, how his lips trembled when he told me—” She breaks off and swallows hard, before looking back up, turning her face to Skye, who notices the slightest hint of a smile on Jemma’s lips. “But in the last seven months since I joined this team, left my little protective bubble.” She sighs. “Somehow I’ve started to think more about all the _good_ things.

“The way Fitz made me laugh. The way he drove me _mad_ sometimes, especially when he brought up his _insane_ idea of getting a monkey for the lab again.” She rolls her eyes in annoyance, before the corners of her mouth quirk up again. “I remember how we watched Doctor Who and then argued hours on end about new episodes and old episodes and which Doctor was better and why and—” She takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “These memories… they make me smile now… it’s like—”

“You see the sun again,” Skye finishes thoughtfully.

“Yes,” Jemma admits at first, but then quickly adds, “No.” She wrinkles her forehead. “I mean, I remember the sunny moments I shared with him. I see the sun he brought into my life, but it’s a _distant_ sun. It’s there but it’s not.”

She sighs. “When Fitz died, it was like a chain reaction. His light turned off and mine got extinguished in the process. Now, I don’t want to say that my entire world revolved around him, because it _didn’t_ but—”

She shrugs. “Fitz and I met when we were _sixteen_ and we became… we were inseparable. I couldn’t imagine my life without him and I didn’t _have_ to… _until_ I had to and it felt like it wasn’t my life anymore because half of me was missing.”

She stares straight ahead, her brows still furrowed in thought. “I was stumbling along in the darkness, not sure _who_ I was anymore, or _where_ I was or where I was headed. It was everlasting, pitch-black night. For _two_ years. _More_ than that.”

She draws in a deep breath. “But _now_ ,” she continues, looking back at Skye. “Now I remember his _light_ again instead of the moment it was taken from me. His _sun_ is gone, but it’s _light_ is still there. It’s like… it’s like the _moon_. These happy memories of him are like a moon, reflecting the light of his distant sun and so the night, _my_ night isn’t dark anymore. And that sparked a new glimmer of hope in _me_ , a new strength.” She gestures at herself. “It turned _my_ light back on.”

She pauses, tilting her head from side to side. “Well, maybe like a dimmer switch, you know, it’s not at full capacity—” Her fingers dial up and down an imaginary dimmer on an invisible wall, “but there’s some light in me again and I look forward to the horizon to what lies ahead—” Jemma’s head turns away from Skye towards the skyline she envisions in her mind. “And there’s a _hint_ of a sunrise… just a thin sliver of pink.”

She begins to smile. “And I can see it grow and rise and—” She suddenly slumps her shoulder, rubbing her forehead. “Gosh, listen to me ramble. I’m a biochemist for God’s sake! A _scientist_. I’m not good with metaphors.” She rolls her eyes, looking almost apologetically at Skye.

“Hey,” Skye replies, “It was maybe a bit elaborate, but actually kinda beautiful. And I get it. You think you could be happy again _now_ and in the future, because you can be happy about your past again.”

“Exactly!” Jemma exclaims in excited agreement. She lifts her shoulders. “The sun is just around the corner and I _know_ I’ll see it again.” She takes a deep breath and sighs.

“And I think _you_ ’ve been a big part of that healing process, Skye,” Jemma adds and briefly reaches over to touch Skye’s arm which is resting on Skye’s legs.

Skye looks shyly to the ground. Even after almost a year among people who genuinely seemed to care about her, whom she has started to consider as friends, family even, she is still not used to being complimented, being talked about highly.

“D’you know it’s a Dido song?” Skye mumbles quietly.

“What?”

“See the sun… it’s… Dido.”

“Really?” Jemma exclaims, surprised. “You’re into Dido?”

Skye rolls her eyes, scrunches her face, and shrugs. “It’s a well-kept secret and shall remain one,” she admits, pointing at Jemma. “Please?” she adds quietly.

Jemma chuckles briefly. “Well, Dido or not. It helped. What you _said_. What you _did_. It helped.”

Skye pulls up her shoulders. “Not sure what I did _exactly_ , but… anytime.” She inhales slowly and grins when a thought pops into her head. “Hey, how ‘bout… let’s make a cake.”

“What?” Jemma wrinkles her forehead in confusion.

“It’s his birthday,” Skye replies and shifts excitedly in her seat. “Let’s celebrate it! Let’s celebrate his _life_! With cake!” She beams at Jemma. “‘Cause _he_ loved cake and _I_ love cake and _who_ doesn’t love cake?”

Jemma’s eyes wander while she ponders Skye’s suggestions. “I’m not sure the kitchenette here has the right ingredients to—”

“I _know_ I saw a brownie mix in one of the cupboards,” Skye interjects, gesturing over her shoulder with her thumb. “I mean… let’s at _least_ make some brownies!”

Jemma’s face lights up and she sits up straight. “Okay. Let’s do it!”

She slaps her thighs with her flat hands and energetically pushes herself up to standing, tugging down her sweater as she moves.

* * *

“Brownies, brownies, brownies, brownies,” Skye sings quietly, shimmying her shoulders as she cuts open the package that contains the dough mix.

She dumps it into the large metal bowl with such gusto that a dust cloud blows up and some of the mixture lands on the counter around the bowl.

“Try to get at least _some_ of the mix into the bowl, will you?” Jemma laughs, while she carefully fills a measuring cup with the correct amount of oil.

Skye sticks her tongue out, and grabs an egg, whistling while preparing to crack it into the bowl. But as she pulls her arm back to smack the egg against the brim of the bowl, it slips out of her grasp and lands on the floor instead.

“Mayday. Mayday!” Skye exclaims theatrically. “Egg down. I repeat. Egg down!”

Jemma laughs while Skye, somewhat disoriented, turns around until she catches sight of a dishtowel on the counter. She grabs it and swings her body back around, when her elbow hits something hard.

“Oh fuck!” Skye exclaims when she sees Jemma’s head fling backwards, who had apparently grabbed a paper towel, bent down to clean up the egg and stood back up right at the wrong moment.

“Ouch!” Jemma exclaims, and the egg-filled paper towel bundle she’s been holding drops back to the floor.

Skye thinks she can almost _see_ the stars that are dancing before Jemma’s eyes when the scientist looks back at her blinking rapidly and shaking her head before slowly moving her hand to her forehead.

“Ohgodohgodohgod, I’m _so_ sorry.” Reaching out, Skye takes a step towards Jemma, who still looks like the room is spinning in front of her. “Let me look at this.”

Skye carefully places her hand on Jemma’s arm to encourage her to lower the hand from her forehead. Jemma complies, grimacing slightly.

“Oh shit, that’s turning into quite the egg,” Skye mutters, when she notices a bruise forming on Jemma’s forehead. “No pun intended.” Looking side to side, she aimlessly scouts the kitchen, trying to figure out what to do.

“Well, maybe pun intended,” she adds, shrugging her shoulders and looking back at Jemma.

“It’s not so bad,” Jemma replies unconvincingly.

“ _Ice_!” Skye exclaims and rushes to the fridge, frantically opening the door to the freezer compartment and grabbing the first thing her hand reaches. “Here. Ice!”

Skye presses a package of frozen peas against Jemma’s forehead, and Jemma flinches in pain.

“Oh shit,” Skye exclaims apologetically, realizing that she’s probably just caused more harm than good. “God, I’m such a klutz!”

“It’s okay,” Jemma assures her, grabbing for the frozen peas herself and placing the package back on her forehead. “Really,” she adds, a forgiving smile lingering on her lips.

One corner of Skye’s mouth quirks up apologetically. Silently, she grabs another paper towel and bends down to clean up the egg.

“Okay. Where were we?” Skye asks, closing the garbage can and stepping back in front of Jemma, who lowers her makeshift icepack.

“Maybe _you_ should be in charge of the egg?” Skye suggests and gently nudges Jemma’s arm with her elbow.

Jemma chuckles, her eyes sparkling happily, and Skye can’t help but smile herself. But Skye’s smile disappears when she notices Jemma leaning closer. The sight takes her breath away.

It’s not until Jemma kisses her that Skye draws in a slow breath, closing her eyes and savoring the unexpected sensation of Jemma’s soft lips on her own.

Silence settles in the room, when their lips part.

Skye opens her eyes and is greeted by Jemma gazing back at her, her mouth slightly ajar, her eyes wide as in shock. Skye feels her lips pulling into a smile, but the happiness bubbling in her chest is drowned when Jemma’s lips begin to tremble and her eyes fill with tears.

“I’m sorry,” Jemma whispers.

The sound of the frozen peas hitting the ground intuitively takes Skye’s eyes down to the kitchen floor. Her head shoots back up when she notices Jemma turning around and rushing out of the kitchenette.

“Jemma!” Skye calls, but Jemma doesn’t look back.

Skye slumps her shoulders, staring at the package of frozen peas on the floor. It had burst open upon impact, spilling half its content across the floor.

* * *

The door to Jemma’s bunk is open when Skye walks up to it about half an hour later. Jemma is sitting on her bed staring down at a photograph. Skye doesn’t have to see it to know who she’s looking at.

“May I come in?” Skye asks shyly and leans against the doorframe, crossing her arms. She remembers the first time she had asked Jemma that question.

Jemma looks up with red puffy eyes and nods.

“I’m sorry about what happened earlier,” Jemma says. The corners of her mouth twitch briefly into an apologetic smile.

“Okay,” Skye replies and pushes herself off the doorframe with a shrug, taking a step inside. “That’s fine. _Unnecessary_ if you ask me but—”

She pauses and exhales sharply. “Can I ask: are you sorry because you kissed me and you’re not sure if I wanted that or are you sorry because you kissed me and you feel guilty because… well… because of Fitz?”

Jemma doesn’t reply.

“Because if it’s the _first_ thing then lemme tell ya: I did not mind that _one_ bit!” Skye explains.

“You didn’t?” Jemma asks, surprised.

“Hell no!” Skye exclaims and takes another step closer to the bed, her thighs almost touching the raised bedframe. “In case you haven’t notice, you’re _crazy_ smart, and _adorably_ weird, and cute as _fuck_ and I—” She shrugs. “I _really_ like you, but … well I didn’t do anything about it because a) I wasn’t sure if that’s your thing and b) well, there’s this Scottish elephant in the room.”

Jemma’s eyes shimmer sadly when she replies. “I don’t know. I… I like you, Skye… a lot, but—” She sighs. “I feel like—”

“Like you shouldn’t allow yourself to love anyone else?” Skye asks.

Jemma shrugs.

Skye bites her lower lip, trying to gather her thoughts. “Okay, so… forget about me, okay? This isn’t about me. Just… think about _him_ for a second.” She gestures at the photograph of Fitz. “The guy… he loved you. He loved you _so_ much that when it came to saving his life or yours, he chose _your_ life. _You_ being alive was more important to him than anything else.”

Skye takes a deep breath. “And I know that leaves you with a shitload of guilt because… well, I’ve been there, but… think about it, Jemma… just for a moment. Do you think he wanted you to live so you could spend your whole life grieving over him? Or do you think he wanted you to live so you could have a chance at… well, _living_ … at being happy?”

A shy smile flashes across Jemma’s face. She gestures at the empty space next to her on the bed and Skye accepts her invitation. She climbs onto the bed until she sits cross-legged next to Jemma.

Slowly, Jemma’s hand reaches for Skye’s, interlacing their fingers and resting her head on Skye’s shoulder.

She sighs deeply. “I like you Skye,” she repeats. “And you… you make me happy and you’re right: that’s what Fitz would want… but… I don’t want you to feel like you’re—”

“A second choice?” Skye asks quietly, leaning her head against Jemma’s.

Jemma sighs. “I know I talk a lot about how you and Fitz would have liked each other and the things you have in common and now I worry that it comes across as you being nothing but a replacement.”

Jemma covers their intertwined hands with her free one. “I would _never_ want you to feel that way, Skye,” she adds, “because, yes, you have things in common with him, but you’re also so completely different.”

“I got better boobs, for sure!” Skye tries to lighten the mood.

She smiles when her joke makes Jemma laugh out loud.

“Yes you do,” Jemma agrees, and lifts her head from Skye’s shoulder, turning her head to look at her instead. “And you bring out a side of me that… that I didn’t even know was there and I like that because when Fitz died, I felt like I lost a part of myself and now I’m discovering this _new_ part of me thanks to you.”

Jemma inhales slowly, her eyes briefly wandering to where she had put down the photograph of Fitz next to her on the bed. “Fitz and I,” she begins and turns back to face Skye. “We… we had our lab, and it felt safe and familiar, and it was our bubble and— _gosh_ —when Coulson approached us and suggested that we’d join his team… in the _field_ … Fitz just about _freaked_ and even though I was a _little_ bit tempted I wasn’t far behind him panic-wise speaking.”

She chuckles briefly. “I think I would have had to drag Fitz here kicking and screaming.”

Jemma pauses. “But _you_ ,” she continues. “I don’t even know what it was, but when you talked to me at the Academy, _how_ you talked to me. I just, I _knew_. I knew I could trust you… I _should_ trust you and I suddenly _knew_ it was time to leave my cave and try something new, something different, something even a little bit scary.”

Jemma squeezes Skye’s hand more tightly. “You make me more daring, Skye.” She laughs quietly. “I mean what happened at the Hub? I would never have _dreamed_ of doing something like that before! Ever! You made me break the rules.”

“So I’m a bad influence on you?” Skye asks teasingly.

“You sure are,” Jemma replies, grinning mischievously, before her expression becomes more serious again. “But in a _good_ way, in the _best_ way possible.” She exhales sharply. “All my life, I’ve followed the rules down to the last _T_ , and then _you_ show up with your bad girl shenanigans and make me see that I should question things that _should_ be questioned. I don’t think I ever want to go back to being… boring.”

“ _Boring?_ ” Skye exclaims, leaning slightly forward and twisting her body to look more directly at Jemma. “You had _two_ Ph.D.s at the age of eighteen and were a level five agent in a secret spy organization _four thousand_ miles away from your home, while _I_ lived in the back of a van and ate baked beans out of a can. _Cold_ baked beans. You develop gadgets that save _lives_ using things I can’t even pronounce while I _barely_ understand enough about chemistry to _sort of_ know how hair is dyed. You’re a lot of things, Jemma Simmons, but _boring_ is not one of them!”

Jemma smiles shyly. “All I tried to say was that you bring out a new side of me, a side I _love_ , that I _enjoy_. But still… I’m… I feel guilty and I don’t want you to feel like a second choice. I _don’t_. You deserve more than that!”

Skye smiles. “Look, I don’t like to think of love as first and second choices,” she explains. “There are different kinds of love and there can be two loves that are equally strong without being exactly the same and that’s okay.” She covers the little stack of hands that Jemma has created with her free one. “You will always love him, Jemma. And no one will ever replace him.” She shrugs. “Replacing him is not the point! The beautiful thing is that the heart is big enough to have room for more than one person. There’s room for more than one love. That’s the beauty of it.”

A smile flashes across Jemma’s face. “I don’t think I’ve _ever_ heard you say something quite so sappy before.”

Skye chuckles. “Yeah, don’t get used to it. In about ten minutes I’ll go back to fart noises and poop jokes.”

Jemma laughs out loud and leans over to kiss Skye. Her lips are soft and taste salty from the tears she had shed earlier. Skye dares to briefly brush her tongue against Jemma’s lips and her stomach twinges in excitement when Jemma reciprocates and their tongues touch for the briefest of moments, before Jemma breaks their kiss, resting her head against Skye’s forehead instead.

“I _want_ to be happy,” Jemma whispers against Skye’s lips. “With _you_!”

Then she leans her head back, her brown eyes looking at Skye with warmth and longing. She takes a deep breath. “But it … it’ll—”

“Take time,” Skye replies and nods, a smile playing on her lips. “I get that. Slow and steady. _You_ set the pace. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jemma’s eyes sparkle happily. “Thank you,” she replies quietly.

Skye inhales slowly and sighs in relief, her cheeks almost hurting from smiling so widely. “How about we grab some of those brownies and then just sit back and talk some more?”

“You finished the brownies?” Jemma asks wide-eyed.

“Even managed to crack an egg without making a mess,” Skye replies proudly. “Wasn’t gonna let a perfectly fine batch of brownie batter go to waste.”

Jemma chuckles. “Oh, you two would have gotten along so well!”

“Maybe we would have made a nice threesome,” Skye remarks, grinning mischievously.

“Quite possibly,” Jemma replies equally cheekily.

“Jemma Simmons, you saucy minx!” Skye exclaims, winking at Jemma suggestively.

“Ugh, you sound _terrible_ when you try to be English,” Jemma counters, rolling her eyes.

Skye smiles shyly. “Maybe you can teach me.”

Jemma leans over and kisses Skye again and Skye savors the rush of happiness surging through her body.

“Could you go ahead to the kitchen?” Jemma asks, her face still so close that Skye can feel each word brushing against her lips. “I’ll be right there. I just—”

“Need a moment,” Skye finishes Jemma’s sentence, and straightens back up.

“Yes,” Jemma replies quietly.

Skye gives her a tender peck. “Take all the time you need,” she says and gets up from the bed.

She turns around one more time before leaving the bunk, and smiles when she sees Jemma gazing at her happily.

* * *

Jemma’s eyes linger for a moment longer on the open door to her bunk after Skye leaves.

Then she reaches for the photograph of Fitz lying next to her. She smiles, letting her fingers trace his features.

“I remember when I told you that I thought I was having a crush on this girl in my Thermodynamics class,” she whispers. “I was _so_ confused about what it might mean because well… I’d only ever been with boys before and you—”

She chuckles. “You told me to go for it because love is love and I should be happy.”

Jemma inhales slowly. “Skye’s right. You’ve always wanted me to be happy, haven’t you?”

She feels her lips twitch and tremble as a happy smile battles the tears bubbling below the surface. “I hope you know that you made me happy, too, Fitz.” She chuckles sadly. “You made me _so_ happy. Every minute we spent together. No one can take that from me.”

Jemma takes another deep breath. “She makes me happy, too,” she tells the memory of him. “You would have liked her, Fitz.”

She presses her lips into a thin line, unable to stop a few tears from escaping. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For giving me a chance to—” She sighs. “To meet her.”

A smile flashes across her face. “I would never have met her if you hadn’t—” She inhales slowly through her nose and swallows hard. “—done what you did.”

“Thank you for giving me a chance at life,” she adds and leans down to kiss his photograph.

Then she places it on the small shelf above her bed. Her eyes linger on it for a moment longer.

The darkness that had engulfed her for far too long had been lit up by the memory of his sun, which had ignited a new one inside of herself.

Now she can feel her own light starting to rise on the horizon.

She doesn’t need to see the sun again.

She is her own sun.

Maybe what she needs is to see the sky, a sky full of possibilities.

She smiles, and turns around to head to the kitchen, where Skye is waiting for her.


End file.
